


Mountains Don't Sing

by MathConcepts



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Bad Melkor Bad Melkor, Blood, Fingon needs to keep his mouth shut, Gen, M/M, Melkor and Mairon being bastards, Psychological Torture, Sass, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-09-02 01:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16777300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathConcepts/pseuds/MathConcepts
Summary: When Fingon attempts to rescue Maedhros from Thangorodrim, he is captured instead, and made a captive with his cousin, as Melkor wishes to use Fingon as a ransom alongside Maedhros, believing their families will cave to his demands, now that he holds them both.Maedhros allows himself to be tormented in new and horrible ways to keep Fingon from harm, but it is not long before Melkor and Mairon tire of torturing him, and turn to Fingon, who is untouched and beautiful, a perfect new canvas.Throughout the horrors they both endure, Maedhros and Fingon have each other, though, once Melkor and Mairon learn the nature of their relationship, they become the cause of each others torment.





	1. Welcome, Our New Guest

Maedhros had heard Fingon's voice echo, and be thrown from the nooks and crannies of the mountain of Thangorodrim that he presently hung from, then, he heard the silvery strum of his cousin's harp, then at last Fingon's sweet, sweet voice raised in song, a sorrowful, yet rebellious call.

  
And Maedhros had answered that call, letting his misused voice fall from his cracked lips, the sound of his singing a barest whisper, though it rose rapidly, yearning to greet Fingon's ears.   
  
  
And Fingon heard, his voice swelled, bringing his song even clearer to Maedhros. Maedhros had wept, fearing what he heard to be some hallucination, some cruel trick, yet, indeed if it was, he could not bring himself to care.  
  
  
He drank in the sound of his cousin's sweet voice, and sang back with all the force of his aching lungs, hoping to call Fingon to him, to see Fingon's lovely face.  
  
  
But, suddenly, horribly, Fingon's voice turned from song, to screams. Screams of pain, screams of fear, Maedhros did not know which, all he knew was that Fingon screamed, an indication that some horrible thing was happening.  
  
  
  
"Findekano!" Maedhros wailed in horror. "Findekano!"  
  
  
  
But Fingon gave no reply, save for his screams. Screams that rapidly faded, until silence once more was given solitude.   
  
  
Maedhros called out Fingon's name in desperation, over and over, til his throat was hoarse and blood rose to his lips, the blood choked him, stifling his his voice.

  
Chest heaving with breaths of horror, eyes blown wide in animal madness, Maedhros crushed his head against the mountains's rocky wall at his back. Pain and blackness rose together, cradling Maedhros in their touch.

  
One word escaped Maedhros's bloodied lips, a last plea thrown out before the wave of blackness could overtake it. 

" _Findekano_."

* * *

Fingon gasped and coughed wretchedly, stumbling as he was propelled by his captor through a torchlit hall. He was held bound by a chain about his hands, the end of which was grasped in the burning hand of a balrog.   
  
  
  
He had been accosted by the fiery beast as he had sung to Maedhros, it had come upon him unawares, smiting him across the back with its whip of fire. He had screamed then, and screamed, for the agony had been overwhelming.   
  
  
Maedhros had called for him, but he could not answer, for he had then been seized and borne away, his weapons torn from him, his hands chained. 

Fingon knew not where his harp was, and he feared greatly for it, for in all likelyhood, he would never see it again.   
  
  
But, most of all, he feared for Maedhros, though he knew now his cousin was surely alive, he knew not what state he existed in.  
  
  
The Balrog dragged him on and on, til to a set of behemoth doors they came, and through these doors, the Balrog went, and Fingon beheld the throne room of Melkor. Melkor reclined upon a magnificent seat of black stone and iron, armored and robed in obsidian, the Silmarils gleaming as white tongues of fire from the spokes of his crown.  
  
  
Beside him, on a throne smaller, but no less magnificent, was seated the Lieutenant of Angband. Hair the color of the most splendid fire spilled over his shoulders, eyes as two gold orbs locking upon Fingon and his captor. 

The Balrog flung Fingon to the marbled floor at the foot of Melkor's throne, and Mairon laid a lithe hand upon his master's arm.  
  
  
  
"My Lord, look." Mairon murmured, and Melkor's gaze traveled to he elf at his feet, dark eyes devouring the sigil which was inlaid upon Fingon's exquisitely crafted armor.  
  
  
  
"A prize indeed you have brought me." Melkor rasped, eyes flitting to Fingon's balrog captor.  
  
  
  
  
"You shall be commended to Gothmog." Mairon's voice flowed in, as smooth as liquid gold.

"Leave us now." Melkor rejoined, and the Balrog bowed and left, leaving his Lords, and prisoner alone together in the vast black room.

* * *

Fingon forced himself to rise to his knees, the welts on his back flourishing with pain at every movement. Melkor's eyes flashed down, boring into his, but Fingon held his gaze uncowed.

"What brings you my abode, little elfing?" Melkor queried.

'Where is the King?" Fingon snarled, in a voice raspy and harsh from his earlier screams. 

Melkor laughed, a deep, mocking sound.

"There is no King here, elfing, save for me."

"Do not deny that you have in your captivity the High King, who was taken by you, by means of treachery in a false bid for peace!" Fingon spat.

"There is no King here, but me." Melkor repeated, eyes darkening.

"I see no _King_ before me, only a tyrant, bloated by arrogance." Fingon hissed.

  
  
Darkness gathered around Melkor, creeping in from the shadows of the walls, as Melkor rose in anger, standing to tower tall and black over Fingon.

  
"You believe that elfing to be your _King,_ over me?"Melkor sneered, dark eyes alight in mockery. "Come then, you little fool, and see what remains of your beloved King now."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. On The Mountainside

Maedhros was unawares, deeply unconscious from the blow he dealt himself against the mountainside and as such, was oblivious to the three figures that stood on a rocky ledge across from where he hung, and he did not hear the dark cadences of Melkor's voice, Mairon's mocking laugh, nor Fingon's sobs, as Fingon was dragged to the edge of the ledge, his eyes wide with deep rooted fear and horror as he beheld Maedhros hanging.

"To affix him there," Melkor was saying, "He and two others were lowered with ropes, and one held him, while the other..."  
  
"I care not how it was done!" Fingon screamed, tears flowing freely down his face. "Take him down!"

Melkor's eyes swiftly narrowed.  
  
"I think not, I have grown fond of the decoration he provides my bare mountain walls with." Fueled by anger and and grief, Fingon threw himself at Melkor, slamming his hands against the Vala's broad chest.   
  
"Release him!"  
  
Immediately Mairon seized Fingon, flinging the elf onto the rocky stones at his feet. Melkor watched in silence, although bright amusement shone in his eyes.  
  
"My lieutenant is as incensed on my behalf as you are for your kinsman. He leaps to defend me." Melkor said, and there was warning in his tone, which Fingon ignored, and spat contemptuously on the stones at Melkor's feet.  
  
"As a whore defends their benefactor." Fingon snarled.   
  
Anger replaced the amusement that dwelt in Melkor's eyes.

"You will not speak in such a way to me." Melkor hissed.

"I will speak in any way I please." Fingon retorted. Melkor's answer was a swift kick to Fingon's midriff, as one might kick a recalcitrant dog, calling forth a pained gasp. A simple kick did not cow Fingon however, and he staggered to his feet, his eyes drawn to to the figure of Maedhros. 

"Maitimo!" Fingon screamed across the chasm that separating them, pleading within his mind for Maedhros to to hear him, to respond. But Maedhros gave no movement, no sound.

Fingon sank to his knees, his eyes glazing over as he stared across to where Maedhros hung, tears resuming their bitter path down his face. He had been close, so very close to gaining Maedhros's freedom, but had been waylaid on the cusp of victory by the enemy's fell demon. 

  
How he _hated_ it. Hated them all!  
  
Melkor stared down dispassionately at Fingon's crumpled form, basking in the hatred and grief emanating from the elf, his enjoyment of Fingon's pain sweetened by the knowledge of Fingon's heritage.

Fingon was son of Fingolfin, and Melkor knew Fingolfin well, watched Feanor and Fingolfin's disagreements from the shadows, and he had tried his hand at careful manipulation with Fingolfin in the courts of Valinor, before ruling him too unworthy a goal, and so turned his full attentions upon Feanor.   
  
And now, he had both Feanor and Fingolfin's sons in his grasp. Dark pleasure suffused Melkor's veins, and bled into his eyes. This situation was the most ideal he had made for himself, the allure in the thought of possessing the sons of his enemies could not be resisted.  
  
  
Melkor's dark eyes turned to Mairon.

"Take him down." Melkor ordered simply, indicating Maedhros's figure with a dark hand. Mairon's head dipped in assent, and the Lieutenant of Angband turned and strode off, doubtless to procure the fulfillment of Melkor's order.  
  
Fingon had risen to his feet when Melkor's decree had fell upon his ears, and he turned accusing, but tear-filled eyes upon Melkor.

A laugh rumbled from Melkor's throat.  
  
"It seems you have been given your wish, foolish princeling. But, you may soon find that it would have been more merciful to leave him to hang upon that mountain." Melkor declared ominously.  
  


* * *

  
  
Maedhros was laid out pale and cold at Melkor's feet, his wrist still encircled by the cuff of black metal. He was still senseless, the only proof of life within him was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Melkor was restraining Fingon, his burnt hands curled around Fingon's shoulders crushingly. Fingon wailed and fought, attempting to break free of the Vala's hold. 

Melkor released Fingon abruptly, shoving him to where Maedhros lay.   
  
Fingon fell to his knees beside Maedhros's prone form, grasping Maedhros's hands despite the chain, and bringing them to his lips.

"Maitimo, _please, please!_ " Fingon cried out, his lips brushing over the scarred skin, tenderly ghosting over every knuckle. " _Wake up, look at me!_ "

Maedhros's gaunt face twitched, and after several agonizing moments, his eyelids peeled back to reveal green eyes, the only color that could be seen in his pale face, a face that went even paler still when the green of Maedhros's eyes met with the limpid blue of Fingon's.  
  
  
  
"Findekano." Maedhros gasped out in horror.


	3. The Worst Yet

The voice was sweet and familiar, and burdened with great pain as it called out his name. Maedhros answered its call, forcing his heavy eyes open. His eyes met with blue the color of the sky, and dread flooded Maedhros, binding him to wakefullness.  
  
  
"Findekano." Maedhros gasped, his hand raising despite the weighty iron cuff that was clamped about his wrist. His hand moved towards Fingon's face, not truly expecting for it to meet with anything of substance.  
  
For Fingon could not be here, he was safe, and this was all a cruel dream, a horrid reality influenced by Melkor. _Fingon was safe, Fingon was safe..._  
  
  
But, Maedhros's fingers connected with flesh, his palm pressing against a tear-stained cheek. And he knew, this was no dream. Fingon's own lithe fingers gripped Maedhros's wrist, curling awkwardly over the iron cuff, his other hand covering Maedhros's, holding Maedhros's hand against his face, and pressing soft kisses into the hollow of Maedhros's palm.

"Maitimo, Maitimo." Fingon wept. With a heave of abused muscles and aching bones, Maedhros forced himself upright, and remained that way, through the sheer force of horror coursing through his veins.   
  
  
"How came you to be here?" Maedhros cried, staring in ill fascination as the torchlight turned the threads of gold in Fingon's hair into shining ribbons of red.   
  
  
"I sought to free you..." Fingon admitted through his tears.  
  
  
"And he has done an exemplary job of it indeed." Melkor remarked from above, his voice a study in mockery. Maedhros sent a baeful glance upwards at the Vala, a look that conveyed his uttermost disgust, with no thought to his own wellbeing.  
  
"You will release him immediately. " Maedhros hissed, and wondered at the authority in his own voice, it did not befit a prisoner of the Dark One. At any other time, he would have not spoken to his captor with such vitriol, but now, with Fingon warm and weeping beside him, he was filled with a fire that had long been absent.  
  
"Release him." Maedhros repeated, when no answer nor reprimand was forthcoming from Melkor. Melkor laughed, a sardonic and dark manifestation of amusement that rumbled from his chest.  
  
"I think not." Melkor said, dark eyes alighting on Fingon, then sliding to Maedhros's face. "Though, you give me to much to wonder at, in how you plead for your kinsman's freedom."  
  
Maedhros swallowed tightly, the ghost of apprehension clouding his face. Melkor's words meant the dark Vala could suspect many things, none of which Maedhros wished to have confirmed as truth.  
  
"I do not wish for one of my blood to suffer you, as I have." Maedhros said quickly, citing a reason which was no less true, but perhaps, less harmful.  
  
"He has suffered. Your wish means nothing, here in my domain." Melkor gloated.  
  
Maedhros's eyes left Melkor, turning to Fingon, flashing with question and rage. Fingon released Maedhros's hand and turned, presenting his back to Maedhros in answer to his unspoken question.  
  
  
Fingon had long since been stripped of his armor, and so, it was made all the more easier for Maedhros to see the whip-welts that adorned Fingon's otherwise unmarked skin. The skin was charred along the stripes, and Maedhros was able to fit a name of origin to the injury without a second thought.   
  
"Balrog." Maedhros spat. The well woven cloth of Fingon's tunic shifted as Fingon hunched his shoulders, doubtless remembering the searing pain the aforementioned Balrog had inflicted.

Maedhros reached towards Fingon, intending to attempt to comfort his cousin, but his hand was seized by a larger, blackened one.  
  
"No, no." Melkor said, waving a pair of burlish guards forward from the shadows with his free hand. As fast as he was able, Maedhros rose on shaking legs, throwing himself away from Melkor, desperately trying to reach Fingon. Melkor's hand constricted, pressing the iron shackle deep into the flesh of Maedhros's wrist, and holding him fast as the guards enveloped Fingon.   
  
"Take him away." Melkor ordered. "Take him to his kinsman's cell."  
  
Fingon fought as the guards began to carry out the command, but he was no match for their imposing figures and strength.  
  
"Findekano!" Maedhros screamed, but the name ended in a choked gasp of pain as Melkor cruelly wrenched upon Maehdhros's arm, flinging Maedhros to the ground at his feet.   
  
  
Fingon's answering cry was lost as he was dragged into the darkness of a hall, and Maedhros could do nothing but lay at Melkor's feet, trembling in rage and fear.

Melkor crouched beside the prone elf, black robes pooling about him.

"You and I have a common interest now, little King, or so I would believe. Do I have the right of it?" the Vala murmured, the same mockery from minutes earlier dancing on the edges of his words.

"You have the right of it." Maedhros said coldly, mustering his anger to speak the words as one would a bitter curse. There was no use in lying. Whereas Maedhros had been on the edge of succumbing to death only hours before, a reason to live had bloomed like a sickened weed. His darkest dream, and greatest desire had both been granted to him...Fingon, here, but in the clutches of the enemy.  
  
This was yet the worst torture Melkor had devised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovelytimes - You are an absolute dear, accept this update as an apology for keeping you waiting. To everyone else, I am also sorry for the mild hiatus.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback makes me a happy person.


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